


Seas That Have No Shores

by moshi



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Binge Drinking, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moshi/pseuds/moshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Louis never pretended to be perfect together. They never pretended like things couldn't go wrong. But neither of them expected it, either.  They never expected they would have to make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seas That Have No Shores

**Author's Note:**

> For the binge drinking tag: one character drinks heavily at one part, not habitually. The first date isn't Zayn and Louis.

Zayn stomped the snow and slush off of his boots on the mat outside of Louis’s apartment and breathed out the last of the cold. He knocked on the door and then undid his scarf and unbuttoned what he could of his jacket while holding two plastic bags from the bodega down the street in one hand. Louis threw the door open.

“You,” he pointed at Zayn, “are a saint.”

“My arm’s fucking tired. Let me in!”

Zayn shoved the bags into Louis’s arms, who took them to the kitchen, and stepped inside behind him. He threw his coat on the back of the couch on their way through his apartment and tossed his scarf on top of it.

“Hey, don’t get my couch wet!”

Zayn rolled his eyes and took his coat to the closet just inside of the front door.

“Since when did you start caring?”

“Well, I have you around to impress, don’t I? Can’t exactly live like a rat anymore.”

“Do what you want with your space, man -”

Zayn was shaking his head and starting to laugh, smile on his face, when he saw Louis tearing into a bag of Cheetos. His smile turned into a scowl and he grabbed the Cheetos out of Louis’s hand.

“Hey!”

“The Cheetos are mine, _Rat_ \- you get the Sun Chips.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You asked for them!”

Zayn already had Cheetos dust on his fingertips and a little at the corner of his mouth that he licked off. He was holding back laughter.

“How are you gonna get me Sun Chips and you Cheetos?

“Sorry…you said, ‘get whatever, like Sun Chips or some shit.’ Should've said it if you wanted Cheetos.”

Zayn shrugged and licked the tips of his fingers. Louis petulantly tore open the bag of Sun Chips and tossed it on the kitchen counter. He pulled out a liter of Mountain Dew.

“Will you get me a cup, babe?”

Louis glared back at him, reaching into the cupboard to get a cup for himself. Zayn met his glare and slowly pulled out a Cheeto, chewing it slowly.

Louis pulled out two cups. The slightest smile pulled the corners of his mouth, but he shoved some Sun Chips in his mouth before anything could get out.

They had a routine: every Friday, after Zayn finished at Friday prayer, he would come over with junk food and Louis would have weed. They smoked and ate, sometimes they played video games or watched movies; sometimes they just slept a lot. While everyone they knew went out drinking and socializing en masse, they were curled into one another quietly and setting aside the world for a night. At first, Zayn suspected Louis was giving up his time for him, to do these things with him and only him; giving him this time away at the expense of what Louis needed - he had since learned, though, that this reprieve was as much for Louis as it was for himself. Zayn needed time away, time to log off, but Louis needed the rote-ness of it: he needed the absolute consistency. They maintained a careful symbiosis like this: suspended and perfectly balanced, giving and taking whatever was required.

 

That night they watched movies. They positioned and repositioned themselves on the small couch in front of Louis’s television throughout the night, watching B movies streaming off of Louis’s laptop. Zayn couldn’t stop giggling during _I Was a Teenage Werewolf._

“Look at their makeup!”

“What high school is actually like that?”

Louis scoffed, mostly at himself: he was trying to articulate some witty social commentary, but the high and Zayn’s quiet, easy laugh made it hard for Louis to keep track of his thoughts. Instead of trying again, he pulled further into Zayn, pushing his head from Zayn’s lap onto his chest and pressing his hip into Zayn’s hip. Louis was feeling weighted down by sleep and Zayn was warm -

“Babe?”

Zayn wrapped his arm around Louis’s shoulder, squeezing him lightly into his chest.

“Nesting…” Louis mumbled.

“What?”

“Rat… _nesting.”_

Louis enunciated like saying it harder would make Zayn get it.

“Oh. Right.”

Zayn didn’t understand what he was saying; he was tired, too. He leaned forward and hit the power button on the remote control.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Hey!”

Louis’s head slipped off of Zayn’s chest when he stood up and Louis fell onto the couch. Zayn scooped his arms underneath Louis and then hoisted him up.

“My hero,” Louis mumbled through a yawn, arms wrapped around Zayn’s neck.

Zayn deposited him on the bed and then went back to the living room. He usually took up the duty of cleaning at night, no matter how exhausted he was; Louis would leave it till the morning. Sometimes Zayn thought he would put off everything till the morning if he could.

When he returned to the bedroom, Louis was sprawled on top of the sheets in just his briefs. His clothes were on the floor at the base of the bed like he had thrown them from where he laid. Zayn went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Louis clumsily reached up and switched off the light, rustling the bed and mangling the sheets more. Zayn added his clothes to the pile when he returned from the bathroom and then climbed into bed softly, shifting over until he felt Louis’s weight on the sheets and his body heat pushing into the bed. He put his hand over Louis’s side and drifted his hand down lightly until he found the bottom hem of his briefs; he hooked his finger around that seam. Even in winter they usually drifted apart during sleep. Louis was fitful and Zayn was too hot - their individual excuses - but they tried to mimic the closeness. They tried to keep each other in touch, even if it was small.

Louis stirred a bit and moved his leg, taking Zayn’s finger on the hem with it.

“Zayn,” Louis was barely whispering, “do you think you can make homes out of other people?”

“Hmm? What kind of question is that?”

Zayn rubbed his eyes. Louis didn’t say anything else. It was like he hadn’t said it at all or like he said it in his sleep, but it was too clear for sleep-talking. Zayn was too sure he had heard it to have made it up.

 _You can’t,_ Zayn thought in response, _Not if you want to keep them._

 

In the morning both of their phones buzzed, too early for anyone to be calling them. Zayn’s hand flew out and he grabbed the first phone it touched, smashing the Home button. The lock screen stayed lit up and he saw a message from Niall: _breakfast !_ He tried putting in his password three times before realizing he had Louis’s phone. He put it back on the side table and rolled over, planting his face into the pillow.

“What’s that?” Louis asked.

“Mhhm.” Zayn grunted.

“Hmmm.”

They drifted in and out of sleep after that, curling into one another and then away; getting too cold and then too hot and then too cold. It was comfortable and an easy way to start Saturday morning, letting the crust of sleep break off slowly and effortlessly.

Louis was up first and Zayn woke up again when he heard his kettle screaming on the stovetop. It was startling; there’s no build up to stovetop kettles, just a piercing whistle sounding an alarm. Zayn rolled onto his stomach and pulled the duvet up over his head, reveling in having the entire bed to himself. He was near the middle of the bed and he spread his legs out like he was running, but frozen in place. He was dozing lightly, but out of it enough that a minute felt like an hour.

Louis came back with two mugs of tea. He set one on the nightstand and then climbed on his knees into the little crook Zayn left between his legs. He was sitting back on his calves, blowing over his tea, and poking Zayn in the butt. Zayn knocked the duvet back with his head.

“Wha - ?”

“I only have tea. We’re gonna have to go grocery shopping.”

Louis felt a chill and realized he finished his morning routine in just his briefs - the fog from sleeping off a high was rolling out of his brain and he felt the cold creeping in through his toes. He got up and went to his closet; a smattering of shirts and pants were poorly hung (more likely haphazardly thrown onto whatever hanger was actually still hanging from the rod) over a low dresser. He changed into sweatpants, pulled off of the floor of his closet. They were a little too big even with the elastic band and hung low on his hips, showing off the waistband of his briefs.

Zayn was stretching under the duvet and grumbling his distress at having to wake up. Louis drank down his tea, looking at Zayn; he refused to open his eyes and the duvet was still barely below his chin. His hair was mostly in his face, too, a mess of an undercut half across his face and half pulled toward the back. Zayn’s lips parted slightly and he breathed heavily out of his mouth - undoubtedly falling back asleep. Louis finished the rest of his tea and then climbed on top of Zayn. He let his weight bear down on him.

“Lou, stop!”

Louis kissed the nape of Zayn’s neck and breathed in his skin; Zayn hadn’t put deodorant or cologne on yet and smelled…like a boy, really. Louis didn’t attribute any specific scent to him, but he liked feeling this close to him. He liked getting Zayn as raw as he can, before he covered it all up with scents and clothes and jewelry.

“Off!” Zayn shrugged and twisted under the duvet, displacing Louis beside him. “I’m up…”

Louis laughed a little and propped himself up on his elbow, watching Zayn roll to the edge of the bed and then sit up. Zayn stood and stretched on his toes, pushing his hands into the air. His back arched some and his shoulder blades shifted upward and then outward when Zayn pulled his shoulders forward; Louis was enraptured. Louis went to the closet at the front of his apartment to get their coats while Zayn plodded off to the bathroom, scratching the back of his head and then absent-mindedly fixing his hair. He pulled his on and then tossed Zayn’s on the bed, sitting beside it and waiting. He picked up his phone from the nightstand and saw the missed text from Niall.

“We missed breakfast this morning!”

He tried yelling so Zayn could hear him over the sink, but he didn’t get a response. Zayn walked out of the bathroom and picked up his jeans from the floor, looking defeated. Louis hoped he wouldn’t be mopey.

“What are we doing today?”

“Grocery shopping. That or starve.”

Louis tapped around on his phone while Zayn picked out one of Louis’s shirts, smelling his armpits once it was on, and then went back into the bathroom to use Louis’s deodorant. They were used to sharing things; their clothes all pretty much smelled the same - sometimes they were at Zayn’s apartment for weeks and Louis borrowed his clothes and his deodorant and sometimes Zayn brought over toiletries when Louis was low. It was routine.

Louis pocketed his phone and looked up to see Zayn fixing his hair in the mirror. He picked up Zayn’s coat and took it to him.

“Suit up. You look good.”

Zayn took his coat and stared at Louis as if to say “not now.” He was exhausted and needed (or wanted? Louis didn’t ever know with him) about five hours more of sleep. Louis planted a quick kiss on his cheek and then headed for the door, Zayn close behind him.

 

 

Winter went like that. It was easy in the way hibernation can feel easy, which is really only when they were sleeping. Otherwise it was cold; the snow built up outside of their apartments and they thought it would never melt. Nights became longer and longer. Spring broke finally, although the equinox felt delayed. The snow was starting to melt and the temperature was a little higher, but it still felt like winter.

_comin to hear me play tonight right ?_

Niall had texted Zayn earlier in the day while he was still at work. He was performing an acoustic set at a bar and hadn’t stopped bugging Louis, Zayn, and Harry about it since he booked it for that night. Zayn even set a reminder (which was just forwarding the text to Louis).

_Wouldn’t miss it!_

Zayn added in three thumbs up emojis and hit send.

 

Zayn and Louis were at the bar before Niall’s eight p.m. set time and were already a few beers in when Harry showed up just before Niall went on stage.

“You didn’t order me anything?”

Harry sank down onto a barstool and slouched down onto the bar like this slight had utterly defeated him. Harry was stunning, though, even in his mock disappointment: his hair was falling in front of his face and obscuring most of his features, but flashes of his handsomeness came through when he pushed it back every other minute. He had a boat neck t-shirt on that showed the sparrow tattoos near his collar bones and blue jeans that left nothing to the imagination.

“There’s no way we can fund _your_ drinking habit, Harold.” Louis sneered over the rim of his beer.

Harry looked aghast and got the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic…”

Harry leered at Louis and then looked at Zayn for backup.

“No way…I’m here for Niall. That’s it.” Zayn pushed his empty beer bottle back on the bar and ordered another. “Go somewhere else if you’re gonna bicker all night.”

“No, he’s not worth it. Anyway, we’re _all_ here to support our dear Niall tonight.” Louis smiled congenially at Harry. “Let’s get a table near the front.”

Louis took out whatever pent-up frustration he had on a couple near the stage, somehow convincing them to give up their seats. Zayn never understood how Louis managed to do that, to be nice and convincing and _manipulative_ enough to get people to do what he wanted. Once he knew someone, though, that skill was tossed out; Louis was direct with the ones he loved, but he could convince strangers that they loved him and not have to reciprocate anything at all. Harry borrowed a chair from another table and they sat in a row to face the stage.

A bar-back carried out a microphone stand and started plugging things in, checking amps and speakers and cords. Soon after, Niall walked out with an acoustic guitar and a stool. The bar was moderately busy, but no one ever came to hear the musicians; live music was a “feature.” The bar wasn’t even an actual venue. People milled around with their drinks and the conversation was still low, but Zayn, Louis, and Harry clapped loudly and Harry and Louis traded off cheering.

“Would y’all shut up? No need to yell…” Niall was smiling, though, and chuckling. “Actually, could one of y’all get me a beer?”

Harry looked pointedly at Louis, who rolled his eyes and then went to the bar.

“You look great, Niall!”

Harry was beaming up at him, looking like the proudest mother at 4H. Niall pretended to ignore him, but was wearing a big smile. He was quick with set up, which didn’t really require much on an acoustic set - he didn’t like to waste time bringing anything more complicated out, especially when he was playing pretty much only to Louis and Harry and Zayn. He tuned his guitar and then cleared his throat.

“Alright, thanks for coming out. Or, just gettin’ a drink tonight, I guess. Hope you like what you hear.”

Louis brought back a cider and handed it up to Niall, who looked like he had forgotten he even asked for one. No matter how easy Niall made it look, and no matter how small the crowd, he was nervous. The bar quieted, though, when Niall started; he had a lilting quality to his voice that was emphasized when he sang and his Southern accent hooked people easily. He went through some covers - cleverly reworked for his style and just vocals and guitar - and some regular songs, old ones he’d had in his setlist for a few years, but only one new song. Zayn was mesmerized by it, unable to concentrate on the side conversation Louis and Harry were having. The song was slow, a little slower than what he usually writes, and a de facto ballad. It was sweet and…lovely. It made Zayn feel like whatever worry gnawing at the back of his mind wasn’t there after all. It made everything feel easy.

There was a smattering of applause when Niall finished. He was graceful, thanking the crowd and giving a few jokes about people actually listening.

“I’ll meet y’all at the bar. Let me get this shit packed up.” He gestured around himself.

 

“Think I’ll call it _Once in a Lifetime.”_ Niall smiled down into his pint glass. “Sounds a bit corny, though, don’t it?”

Harry was in the bathroom, otherwise he would have loved it; he had some natural attraction to camp and corny suited him just as well. Louis was slowly tilting his head left and right, like he was weighing it in his mind, but Zayn spoke first.

“It’s good.”

Niall looked over at him on the other side of Louis.

“Like…yeah, it is corny, right? But love’s kind of corny. It’s, like…a dream.”

“Oh, love’s not real?” Louis protested.

Zayn was taken aback, “Suddenly _you_ believe in _love_?”

“It doesn’t have to be corny, Zaynie.”

Louis darted his hand to Zayn’s chest, underneath his arm resting on the bar, and twisted his nipple.

“Fuck! Lou…”

Zayn looked murderous and in pain.

“Love you, too, babe.” Louis pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah, not too bad of a name…”

Niall was lost in thought, slowly rolling his glass along the bottom edge. Harry came back from the bathroom and climbed onto a stool on the other side of Niall. He looked down the bar and saw Zayn rubbing his chest and giving a scornful look to Louis, who was smirking and drinking his beer.

“What happened over there?” Harry shoved a thick lock of hair out of his face and laid down on the bar. 

Niall scoffed, “Lover’s quarrel.”

“Fuck off!”

Louis finished his beer and gave Niall and Harry a middle finger. Harry looked like he was falling asleep, but he was moving his lips and whispering lyrics to the song Niall sung.

“When I close my eyes…all the stars…”

Harry faltered, forgetting the lyrics. He cracked an eye open and looked up at Niall, who was finishing the last of his pint. He looked down at Harry.

“…Align!” Niall coughed, talking too quickly before he finished swallowing.

“Aliiiiiiiiiiiiiign.” Harry finished perfectly in tune with himself and smiled up at Niall.

Zayn gave up on rubbing his sore nipple - he had a suspicion that Louis liked putting him in that position in public. Louis was wearing a self-satisfied grin like he finally got his say in, like some vindicated boyfriend complex. Zayn hated and loved it. Not his sore nipple, but he loved seeing Louis right afterward, that playful, reenergized glow he would get. Sometimes it just took something small for Louis to light up.

Harry was yawning wide.

“Alright, Harry, come on. Let’s get you home.”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

“Didn’t ask…” Niall shook his head, “Just escortin’ ya home. Feelin’ like it’s my duty, considerin’ you stayed out _so_ late to hear me play…”

Niall laughed under his breath; it was hardly 9:30p.m., but Harry ran on his own schedule. Sometimes he seemed nocturnal and other times like he was a grandfather in a retirement home, but there was no telling which he’d be from day to day. Harry had his arm thrown around Niall’s shoulders and was walking out with him slowly when he suddenly turned around.

“Wait! I forgot to tell you!”

He walked quickly back to the bar and grabbed his receipt, scribbling a note on the back. He put it in between Zayn and Louis.

“What’s this?”

Zayn turned the note toward him; it had a date and time, “My place!!!” and EQUINOX, circled over and over again, written on it.

“Equinox party!” Harry threw his arms in the air, “We _have_ to celebrate the new season! Warm weather! The death of winter, the end of coldness!”

“Are we supposed to sacrifice a goat or something?” Louis asked incredulously.

Harry dropped his arms, “ _No,_ Louis…but we can get drunk and listen to Flo, if that suits you.”

Louis sighed dramatically.

“Florence and the Machine? Still? Harold, you haven’t _stopped_ listening to that album _since it leaked!_ You’re obsessed!”

“Point me to a witch who’s put out a better album!”

Harry had his finger raised at Louis accusatively.

“Stevie Nicks ain’t bad…”

Niall was leaning on the bar and said it quietly; the others almost didn’t hear him. Harry turned slowly, still pointing his finger, until he was facing Niall.

“You.” Harry’s grin slowly unfolded and he walked slowly toward Niall. “I knew I liked you.”

Harry folded his arm into Niall’s and pulled him off of the bar.

“See you at the party!”

Harry looked back and waved, leaning all over Niall and letting him lead them out.

 

Zayn lived nearby enough to walk so they took their buzz into the cold night and pulled their coats close - Zayn was pointedly keeping a little bit away from Louis, though.

“What? Playing hard-to-get? Trying to flirt, Malik?”

Louis could be biting when he was drunk, but he was careful; it wasn’t warm enough for him to scorn Zayn too badly.

And anyway, Zayn was flirting.

“Keep your distance, _Tomlinson,”_ he sneered back, “I’m doing fine. Warm enough…”

Zayn pulled his coat tighter - there was something about tonight, neither of them could seem to stay warm, buzzed or not.

“Huh. Yeah, sure…it’s great out here!” Louis glanced at Zayn again and again, like he was checking to see if he was bluffing.

“Mmmhhhmmmm…”

It was hard for Zayn not to smile; he so rarely had the upper hand with Louis, but he wasn’t about to lose it over a _smile._ They turned at the end of the block and had about a minute left to Zayn’s apartment. Louis hated losing, though.

“Think I might just walk home tonight…” He looked at Zayn out of the corner of his eye, “Being so beautiful out and all.”

Zayn sighed and leaned into him fast, pulling him in close.

“God, fine! Get in my apartment, idiot…”

Louis couldn’t stop grinning.

 

 

Zayn stirred and woke up, feeling his bladder push against his stomach. Louis was on the other side of the bed. He rolled off of the bed and went to the bathroom.

Finished, he paused and leaned on the sink, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He took a breath in and held it for a second. He could feel anxieties and stress seeping into the foreground of his thoughts and, for a moment, he let them come and play out front and center in his mind. He thought about how easy it would be to forget next week, just not show up. Turn off his phone for a day or put it on Do Not Disturb. He played with the idea of leaving as if it were a cleansing act, something he would do to start over. Like starting a fire in an old, old wood and pushing new seeds into the ground right behind the flames. He watched his worries like they were on a conveyor belt, selecting the ones he thought he could invoke and rationalize.

He knew better than to succumb to this, a kind of elementary, intra-personal terror. He knew Louis better; he knew the worth of all of this time they’ve spent together. But those fears were there, too, like buoys in a lake or lanes in a swimming pool. Dark, deep parts of the water with signs to warn swimmers.

He hated feeling trapped in his mind.

His elbow bent and his hand slipped, shocking him awake again. His thoughts, despite the grim nature, lulled him to sleep. Suddenly _“Can’t make homes out of other people”_ popped into his head like a ghost pressing against a wall and falling into the room and Zayn let the thought linger. He was half-asleep and stumbled back to bed, curling underneath the sheets and duvet quietly. That phrase repeated itself again and again in his head, like a meditative _ohm._ It slowed until finally Zayn fell asleep. He dreamed of ribcages and too-fast beating hearts, birds and trying to open doors. His body thought it kept feeling Louis, waking him up to realize that Louis was still in a deep sleep on the other side of the bed.

By morning, however, Louis had rolled over in his sleep and wrapped an arm around Zayn’s waist.

 

 

“What the fuck are we supposed to wear to an ‘equinox party’?”

“I guess, like, witch stuff?”

Louis made a unimpressed face at Zayn, as if “witch stuff” was an awful suggestion.

“Well, I’ll leave the witch hat for you, then.” He deadpanned.

“Just wear black, killjoy…”

Zayn pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans, customized by rows and rows of rips he had done over the week, and an oversized, black sweater he brought from his apartment. It was simple and met Harry’s requirements for a theme just barely, which is all Zayn cared to do –

avoid that dumb conversation about not dressing for the party.

“What about this?”

Louis was standing in front of his closet in briefs with his hip cocked out, holding up a pair of black jeggings and a fitted, black, long-sleeve shirt. Zayn recognized it as his. He shrugged.

“Put it on, let’s see.”

Louis fit into the jeggings easily, like they were specially made for him, and carelessly threw on the shirt. There was a moment before Louis straightened it out that Zayn caught, when the seams and random points of fabric clung to all the wrong places: sticking on the peak of his shoulder, a hem twisting around his elbow, and one sleeve going past his hand, longer than the other sleeve. He looked adorably disheveled, not to mention his hair was pulled out of place. It was gone in a second, though, Louis pulling at the shoulders and the bottom of the shirt to adjust it. Both sleeves ran to about his fingers and the cuff fell back to his wrist when he straightened out his hair. He shook his hands to get the sleeves past his wrist again.

“So?”

Zayn smiled and felt embarrassed, strangely. As if he made Louis put on some gratuitous show for him; some reverse burlesque where he dressed.

“What? God, whatever…I’ll change. A t-shirt is fine…”

He turned back to the closet and started pushing through the hangers.

“No! No, you look great!”

Louis looked over his shoulder full of disbelief. Zayn walked up behind him and hugged his chest, pressing his own to Louis’s back.

“Sorry. Just, like…you look really good.”

He inhaled. The shirt still smelled like Zayn; he loved smelling Louis mixed with his own smell. It felt right - like how a home would smell, how their relationship is supposed to be. Louis sighed and put a hand on top of Zayn’s, clasped to his chest.

“So I should wear it?”

“I won’t go if you don’t.” Zayn propped his chin on Louis’s shoulder.

“Whatever.”

Zayn couldn’t tell if there was an actual edge to Louis’s voice. Sometimes Louis was just difficult to read, acting like the world was out to get him and he had to put on a front just in case. Zayn thought, too, that was just natural for him; he was so used to being defensive, so used to having to start there, that he just was a hard person. He didn’t like that thought. Zayn peeled away from him and sat on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on; Louis pushed his feet into a pair of Adidas trainers in his closet.

“Ready?”

Louis mussed and un-mussed his hair.

 

Harry rented a house with three other people in a further-off neighborhood than Zayn, Niall, or Louis lived in. Zayn and Louis took a bus most the way and then walked nearly a block down a street that would almost looked suburban if not for the city rising up around it. Harry was always in the city so they rarely ever went to his house. It was immediately recognizable, though; they had decorated nearly a house away (mostly chalk drawings on the sidewalk - “follow for rebirth!”, “spring this way!”) and the small porch was packed with gaudy displays. The small window into the second floor was dark, but bass was thumping quietly above them.

“At least it’s not Florence and the Machine…” Louis said under his breath.

They walked in and, to Louis’s chagrin, heard “My Boy Builds Coffins.” Louis cursed under his breath. Zayn laughed.

“You like _this_ album, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I liked it five years ago!”

“Let Harry like what he likes…”

“I need a beer. Or something. Preferably stronger.”

Zayn followed Louis to the kitchen and took the beer Louis handed him. Louis picked around in the refrigerator and then opened the freezer. He found a half-full bottle of vodka and turned around triumphantly.

“Shot?”

Zayn frowned at him and didn’t say anything.

“Suit yourself…”

It only took him two tries to find the cups, opening and closing the cupboards. He dumped some vodka into a coffee mug and then held it up.

“To forgetting _Flo,”_ he mimicked Harry’s voice.

A hand clapped on Zayn’s shoulder.

“Evenin’.”

Niall was smiling just behind Zayn. Past him, lingering a little by the doorway, was someone who looked like he followed Niall in. Louis’s eyes went to him - he was ready for a confrontation. Niall noticed.

“This is Liam.” Niall looked like he was blushing a little, “Thought I’d bring him along and introduce him.”

Niall was biting his nail and then realized he was doing it. He took a step back to stand with Liam, who smiled wide, eyes crinkling up as he did. Zayn immediately knew what Niall liked about him.

“Hey!”

“Shit, sorry…Liam, this is Zayn and Louis,” Niall said, gesturing appropriately to who was whom.

“…Hey! Again…”

Liam laughed and it made his face bunch up even more ( _impossibly adorable,_ Zayn thought). He wrapped his arm around Niall’s waist and brought him in closer. Niall looked like he would die from nervousness. Louis looked unimpressed - or, at the very least, like he was still appraising him. Louis didn’t know if he liked his arm around Niall’s waist. Or, more accurately, if Liam deserved to have his arm around Niall’s waist; he was very protective of people he cared about.

“Shot?” Louis raised the bottle of vodka in Liam’s direction.

He beamed, apparently easily excitable and enthusiastic. Louis took down another mug and carelessly poured alcohol into them while going on about Harry’s decorations. Zayn’s lips tightened a little, feeling put on edge by Louis’s…mood or whatever was going on. He seemed like he was on the edge of belligerent - Niall had to have been lucky Louis had offered Liam a shot instead of an insult.

“Heeeeeeey…” Harry slouched through the doorway, precariously tipping his own cup of whatever alcohol. “Where’d you find the vodka?”

Liam looked concerned, creeping panic painting his face. Louis clinked his mug and threw back the shot. He watched Liam until he did the same.

“Your freezer, where else?” Louis didn’t wait for Harry to answer. “You were fucking serious about Florence and the Machine, weren’t you?”

“It’s the best album this year, Lou.” Harry said incredulously. “What else would we listen to?”

“Spare me.”

Louis walked past Harry, who was very taken aback. Harry gestured after him to Zayn, who just shrugged and mouthed _sorry_ in response.

“I see Louis’s in a mood.” Niall started chewing his nail again.

“Sorry, Niall…Good to meet you, Liam. Be nice.”

Zayn smirked playfully and dodged Niall’s swat. He gripped Harry’s elbow as he passed.

“It’s a good party. The album’s great.” He said in assurance.

Harry looked relieved, but Zayn had already walked past him. Someone had to keep track of Louis, especially if he was going to be volatile tonight.

 

Zayn spotted him in the backyard with some coworkers of Harry, some friends of coworkers, and more friends of friends. The yard was full of small groups that kept forming and reforming, bringing in new people or merging separate groups for a joke or a discussion before dissolving again. Louis was at the back mingling and moving between groups - a skill he had but never cared to use. He had his friends and he rarely saw the point in making new ones, not if they weren’t going to be worth it. Zayn watched him from the backdoor for a moment, thinking about whether he was worth it or if Louis kept him around because he was bored.

Louis wasn’t the only one in a mood tonight.

Zayn sidled between crowds and gave a stream of excuse me’s to each person he passed.

“Lou.”

Zayn smiled at him, having talked himself down while pushing through the crowd. He took a drink from his beer, but faltered and realized there wasn’t anything left in it.

“I’m going back in to grab something, you want another beer?”

Zayn didn’t know him, but he took him up on his offer. He walked around the group and put his empty bottle by the fence, coming back slowly to stand beside Louis.

“I’m Mike,” a man standing next to Louis stretched out his hand to Zayn.

Zayn shook his hand, “Oh -“

“Shit, of course…” Louis was being dramatic, speaking with a wildly inflected tone and gesturing too much. “So sorry, Zayn, this is -“

Louis rattled off a list of names too quickly for Zayn to actually remember. Zayn had to focus on not frowning at him instead.

 _Please calm down…_ Zayn thought. _Please don’t be a dick. Not tonight._

“Everyone, this is Zayn.”

Louis looked self-satisfied and the group waved or laughed a little, everyone knowing that no one would remember anyone’s names. The guy who left to get a drink returned with Zayn’s beer and handed it off to him. Zayn thanked him and turned toward Louis, leaning in to talk quietly.

“Let’s go back inside, babe. I think Niall wants us to meet Liam.”

Louis snorted. He answered and didn’t bother to lower his voice.

“Already met him, didn’t we? I believe I even did a shot with him…sounds like I’m one up on you.”

“Louis…” Zayn put his hand on Louis’s elbow, which he pulled away from.

“How about you go in and talk to him and then come back and tell me all about it?”

Louis glanced at him, hard, and Zayn scoffed, completely taken aback. Louis didn’t do that with him. He hadn’t ever.

“What the fuck, Lou?”

Louis looked away and didn’t respond, acting as if he hadn’t even heard him. He shuffled his feet and then got distracted - acted distracted - by something on the other side of the yard. Cheering erupted from that direction and Louis took off, pushing past people to get to the ruckus. Zayn stood in disbelief - why did he keep…just walking away? Zayn went back inside. Maybe it would be better for Louis to be lost tonight.

Zayn passed Harry going into the living room and Harry’s gaze followed him. He always looked like he could see through people and being drunk just made him look even more…mystical about the whole thing. Zayn sat on the couch.

“Hey, everything alright?”

Harry leaned over the back of the couch and then flipped over it, his back on the seat cushion and his legs going up and over the back. His head lolled close to the floor, letting his hair spread out around him.

“Everything all…right-side up…?”

Harry’s mouth twitched a little trying not to laugh. Zayn sighed.

“Yeah. Probably. You know Lou.”

Harry put his hand on Zayn’s knee in what was probably meant to be a supportive gesture, but the fog of his drunkenness added too much weight and Harry slapped his hand down with too much force. It hit Zayn’s knee just right and made his leg twitch, sending Harry into a fit of giggles.

“Some help you are…”

He patted Harry’s hand anyway, appreciating the effort. The door to the backyard opened, filling the house with the noise of conversation from outside that overtook the quiet volume of music playing inside, now near the end of _Ceremonials._ Zayn picked out the lyrics to “Leave My Body” when the door closed.

“Liam! Shot?”

Louis’s voice filled the house. Liam must have acquiesced: ceramic hit the countertop and then glass. Zayn took in a deep breath and then went to the kitchen. Louis poured out more shots of vodka and handed a mug to Liam, who looked very apprehensive. Niall came in from the hallway and stopped when he saw the vodka.

“Jesus, Louis…”

“Hey, that’s all my vodka!”

Harry was standing behind Zayn, furrowing his brow.

“Oh god, I’ll buy you a new bottle.” Louis was leaning back against the counter and rolled his eyes, “Alright?”

Harry just pouted.

“You alright?” Niall nodded at Liam.

“He’s fine, Niall!” Louis clapped him on the back and startled him. “At least someone here can keep up!”

Liam scratched the back of his head and crossed the room to stand by Niall. Louis looked up and realized everyone was standing around him in the kitchen.

“Oh, fuck off. What? Are we gonna do an intervention?”

They all looked surprised.

“What are you talking about, Lou?” Zayn asked, “You came into the kitchen yelling about shots. We just…”

Louis placed the mug in Harry’s sink too hard, making it sound like he slammed it into the stainless steel fixture.

“Be careful, okay?” Harry looked full of drunken concern.

“Since you mention it, maybe you should slow down…looks like you got a pretty good buzz already.”

Louis rolled his eyes hard enough to make his whole head move. He turned and faced Niall and Liam.

“Maybe you should go fuck your boyfriend, _Neil.”_  

Louis stared at Niall, daring him for a confrontation. He looked like he was ready to fight him, remorseless and savage. Niall’s jaw set and his face reddened - he was caught somewhere between enraged and abashed, paralyzed in between both. Liam looked down as if he were trying to distract himself with his hands, but they were in his pockets. He stared at the floor, not really sure what - or whom - he should look at.

Louis knew better than to say something like that. They all knew Niall trusted them with what Louis called _“his thing.”_ The thing that Niall hated even was a thing. They all knew he didn’t just fuck anybody - he didn’t have sex, period - and they knew his history with it. The never-ending questions, the aborted relationships, all the chances Niall didn’t take because, in the end, it was just easier to _not_. Louis knew what it meant when he sat nervously at a bar, shredding apart his nails and cuticles, instead of approaching whomever it was he liked. He knew Niall was imagining just trying to have that discussion again and deciding instead to order another beer. He gave himself enough of a hard time being asexual without Louis adding his own personal brand of venom, especially in front of someone he was trying with. Louis knew better.

Zayn moved quickly, grabbing Louis’s arm and pulling him outside. Louis got out of his grip on the porch, staying there defiantly. Zayn stopped on the sidewalk.

“What the fuck are you doing, Louis?” Zayn didn’t ask him quietly.

“I’m just having some fun!” Louis yelled back, “It’s a party, Zayn! What else should I be doing?”

“That was fucking _fun?”_

“I’m just as trashed as Harry - probably not even as much…” Louis was rambling, not even looking at Zayn.

“You humiliated Niall!”

Zayn felt hot. He screwed his face up, forcing back tears and anger - he didn’t want to fight Louis; he didn’t want to do it like this. Louis stopped and stared down at him.

“What’s humiliating is this party - what the fuck was Harry thinking?” _How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful_ had started, “Ship to Wreck” clearly audible through the door. “And fucking _Florence. And. The. Machine!”_

“Fuck you, Louis.”

“At least somebody will get fucked tonight, then.”

Louis acted like a live wire - something torn open and sparking, dangerous. As if acting out was a last defense. Zayn was tired of trying to figure out against _what._ He was exhausted.

“I’m done.”

Zayn spoke under his breath, hardly projecting at all. He walked away.

Niall came out and hopped down the stairs. He saw Zayn a ways off, walking alone; Louis stood where he had been standing.

“Shit…you really fucked this one up…”

Niall wasn’t talking to Louis or even at him - more just thinking out loud. Liam walked out gingerly, afraid Louis might lash out at him.

“C’mon, let’s get him a ride.”

Niall and Liam crossed the street; Niall was lucky enough to show up early and get a parking space in front of Harry’s house. He pulled out and turned around to catch up to Zayn. Niall slowed down when he passed Harry’s porch and leaned over Liam.

“Stop being such a dick, Lou. You ain’t hurtin’ nobody but yourself.”

 

 

“Louis…”

Louis was in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, looking for tea. Harry said his name distractedly, going unheard. He was waiting in the living room and trying to decide whether he should sit or stay standing; the couch had some to-go bags on it and some bits of green that were probably weed. There were leftover dishes on the coffee table and Louis’s jacket thrown over the back of the couch.

“I don’t have any tea right now.”

Louis leaned against the doorframe in between the living room and kitchen and scratched his head with a disaffected look.

“What’s happened?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows at him.

“I -” Louis’s throat caught and he paused for a second, “I just haven’t had time.” He turned around and went back into the kitchen. “Okay?” He called out louder.

Louis was flustered. He hadn’t really noticed…he hadn’t really felt like he left anything around; he hadn’t felt like there was anything to do. When Harry asked him, when he brought it up (and what did he bring up? It was the _apartment_ , wasn’t it? Louis couldn’t decide), he saw the mess. He saw that the trashcan was overfilled and he pushed it down so he could just barely close the lid.

_Shit._

Louis let things get out of control. He heard a window open.

“Luckily,” Harry was picking up the bags and plates, “it’s not too hot yet. The summer solstice was last week, but spring’s been holding on.”

He carried them to the kitchen and Louis followed, looking helpless.

“Harry -”

“I’m just bringing in your dishes,” he placed them in the sink, “I don’t even want to see your room…I’m sure that’s a disaster.”

Louis’s cheeks flushed so he looked toward the small kitchen window and bit his lip.

“I don’t need your help.”

Harry sighed. “Lou…I think you do.”

Louis turned around, trying to act angered like he should be, indignant like Harry expected him to be.

“It’s been three months.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty fucking aware, Harold.”

Even the vitriol in Louis’s voice sounded tired.

“What…happened?”

Louis scrubbed his hand over his face and then couldn’t remember if his hands were clean and - why would he be thinking that? He was piqued from nothing and he felt like he hadn’t slept properly in three months. He washed his hands in the sink and then leaned on his forearms over the basin.

 _What hasn’t happened?_ Louis thought.

He tried running a quick inventory, pinpointing a place he should start. When they had a small, off-kilter conversation about moving in together that they let stall out? Was that it? Or maybe it was later. Louis thought about all the demands he made that he didn’t think were demands, and then he doubled back and thought about things he said that weren’t demands but Zayn took as demands - and then chided himself for assuming he could know what Zayn would think is demanding. He thought about how Zayn could just shut down sometimes instead of arguing and how that made him even madder. He tried thinking back to when Zayn started doing that, like that was crux of the problem. He thought about every single time he was mad at Zayn and how it was easier to hold on to that, to cling to it, and offer it up as proof that it was all wrong - how being mad about Zayn never hanging the hand towel back up after drying his hands could justify all of this. Louis shook his head.

“I don’t know.” Louis looked over at Harry.

Louis realized he only had half of the story and he hated having to rely on someone else to determine how he felt about something - when did he let that happen, anyway? When did he start depending on Zayn?

 _Probably when you asked him to move in, you idiot…_ he thought.

“He, uh, texted me. This morning.”

“What did he say?”

“Wanted to know what I was doing.” Harry let a pause fill where Louis expected more information. “Uh, that’s it. That was all. I was getting a coffee.”

Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and lit up the lock screen.

“Still hasn’t texted back.”

Louis’s eyes fell as if he were appraising the countertop. He couldn’t decide if he was happy to hear he was just alive or irritated that he was, typically, unreachable.

“Have…have you talked him?” Harry asked meekly.

Louis rubbed his eyes with his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No.”

Harry’s phone buzzed and then a cute, eight-bit ringtone played.

“Hello?”

Harry gave an apologetic smile to Louis, who was leaning against the sink. Louis crossed his arms.

“I got all the time in the world for you, babe.”

 

Harry jutted out his hip with his hand on it and pursed his lips at Louis like he was posing or trying to put on a sexy look. Louis was looking down, though, and didn’t notice; he was lost in his thoughts.

He thought about the party, feeling the irritation and embarrassment and anger and disappointment in himself all over again. He kept thinking about standing on the porch and being so angry about - he had no fucking clue. He was just standing there and Zayn was on the sidewalk and then Zayn was walking away. No matter how many times he replayed that scene, he couldn’t figure out what Zayn had said. He was so fucking soft-spoken that Louis didn’t even know what he said before he walked away. It was killing him.

“I gotta meet Niall…are you, like, okay?”

It took Louis a moment to realize Harry wasn’t talking into a phone and then he cleared his throat.

“Ye-,” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat again, “Yes. I’m…” he sighed, “I’m fine.”

Harry could hear the defeat in his voice.

“I’ll text Zayn again. I don’t think he’s, like, disappeared or something. Probably just painting or, like…you know him.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Louis was staring at the linoleum, but then looked at Harry suddenly like he had forgotten he was there for a second. Louis flashed a giant grin at him.

“So get the fuck out, then!”

Harry smiled back at Louis softly, knowing better than to push him. Harry knew he pushed himself enough already.

Louis stood in the quiet for a few moments after Harry left - he was thinking too much and he didn’t want to think about Zayn anymore. He didn’t want to replay that last scene over and over. He pulled the trash bag out and set it by the door; he swept the couch off on his way back to the kitchen and then replaced the bag in the trashcan. Harry was right, his room was a disaster; he hadn’t opened the blinds, much less took out any trash, for…a long time.

 _Better than hating yourself,_ he thought, and then walked down the hallway to his room.

 

 

By the time Harry returned to his apartment, the sun was setting and he was exhausted. He was preoccupied with Zayn's lack of texts and Louis's edge - _what am I supposed to do about this?_ Harry kept thinking.

Harry was pacing through the apartment, forgetting to do one thing here and another there. He walked back to the door to put his keys near it, back to his bedroom to take his hat off and drop his wallet on the dresser, back to the closet at the front to take his shoes off...he was headed to the kitchen when he finally looked at the living room and saw Zayn sitting on his couch.

“Shit!” Harry was clutching his chest and had jumped so hard he staggered backward. “Zayn! What the fuck!”

“Sorry…” Zayn said, standing. “I was waiting outside and someone came out, so I went up to your door. You left it unlocked.”

Harry took a very deep breath and then walked into the kitchen. He poured a glass of water and drank the entire glass. Zayn walked in behind him and stood opposite of him with his tiny kitchen island in between them.

“I haven't been here long, just needed to get away.”

“You just, like, came in?”

Harry looked at him quizzically. Not that he really cared, he was just running off of nerves now since he thought for a second he was going to be murdered.

“Wait, better question: why didn't you answer any texts? I've sent you, like, five -”

Zayn sighed and rubbed at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, my phone died earlier today. Wasn't really thinking when I texted you...”

“Louis's probably texted you a thousand times, you know.”

Zayn scoffed. The apartment was silent.

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m kind of freaking out?”

Harry rolled his eyes, _“You're_ freaking out?”

“What do you mean?”

“What?” Harry shook his head, “Never mind. What are _you_ freaking out about?”

Harry reached into the cabinet behind him and pulled out a bag of banana chips. He reclined on the counter and started eating them one by one, as if he were waiting for Zayn to put on some kind of performance. Zayn pushed his hair back and leaned forward onto the island. His hair futilely fell back in front of his face when he looked down.

“Louis is...a lot? Right?” Zayn's inflection kept going up, but he was speaking rhetorically, “I…”

Zayn sighed and shook his head, shaking his hair further out of place. He looked up at Harry and, beyond the mess of hair covering his eyes, Harry saw for a moment something like panic in Zayn's countenance; a breakdown in his self-confidence. Zayn closed his eyes and took a breath. He stood up and fixed his hair, pushing it back and out of his face.

“I don't think I can be what Louis needs.”

Zayn spoke firmly, as if he were reciting the beginning of a speech to Harry. He spoke in a way that didn't leave any room to be questioned - Harry recognized the barrier, this mode of self-defense. He moved around the island and pulled Zayn into a loose hug.

“You are exactly what you need to be. For _you,_ first.”

Harry talked low into Zayn's ear. He could feel Zayn's shoulders tense at the affirmation.

“Second: you are what Louis needs because Louis just needs you.” Harry gave a soft laugh, “You should have seen his apartment earlier today…”

Zayn's heart sank in his chest. It felt like a leak sprung and his rib cage was filling with blood - everything was in the wrong place: Zayn was here, Louis liked him too much, Harry didn't know what he was saying - 

“You know who you are. Let that be enough for both of you.” Harry pulled back and looked at him. “And if you don't think Louis feels like you do, you're wrong. You're both afraid of losing each other. You're both afraid you're each going to be the one to leave first.”

“This isn’t what either of us signed up for.” Zayn felt the lie, even as he said it.

“I don’t think anyone, like…plans on it.”

He wanted to argue, to make Harry see that, no, they’re not right for each other. Zayn was just using him and Louis can’t be with anyone. Or the other way around…that Zayn wasn’t good for Louis and that Louis just used up everything around him. He felt dumb and impulsive and scared and angry at himself, like a war inside of him was trying to spill out. He hated to think what Louis must have thought of him disappearing like he did.

Harry took a step back and stretched, covering a yawn with his hand. He looked at Zayn sleepily.

“You’re gonna be alright, right?”

Zayn looked down, suddenly embarrassed.

“Talk to him.”

“Can I crash here tonight?” Zayn asked.

A small smile peeked at the corners of Harry’s mouth; tiny, but enough to scrunch up his eyes and make his sleepy countenance even cuter.

“You know my bed is the most comfortable in town. It has a reputation.”

“I’ll pass, Haz. I remember your couch being comfortable, too.”

“You’re the king in this castle tonight…” Harry’s voice trailed off, already walking toward his bedroom, “Let me get your majesty a tapestry to sleep under.” He bowed, although Zayn wasn’t in front of him.

“Does that make you the queen?” Zayn asked when Harry came back with a blanket and pillow.

Harry scoffed, “I am just a loyal subject tonight.” He turned quickly on his heels and then paused. “Do let me know if you… _need_ anything. Tonight.”

Harry made a show of winking and Zayn threw one of the pillows on the couch after him. Harry shrieked playfully and ran into his bedroom.

 

Zayn laid on the couch and closed his eyes, trying not to think about the light coming through the curtain-less window in the living room. It was quiet in Harry’s apartment and that was what had been scaring Zayn: too much quietness made him think too much. He had been avoiding thinking for long enough, why start now?

_Am I a good home?_

The question echoed around Zayn’s skull, knocking out any other thoughts he tried to conjure up against it. _Am I a good home?_

_Was Louis a good home for me?_

He started taking apart this house metaphor, thinking about the plumbing and the dry wall…the insulation of Louis and the drafts he would forget about, the creak in the door and the soft spot in the wooden staircase he only stepped on occasionally. He thought about the framework, the strength of its wood, and the sturdiness of the foundation, but he couldn’t think of it as his home.

Zayn rolled over, facing the back of the couch, and started reciting prayers in his mind. Not actually to pray, but as something mindless and normal to clear out his thoughts. All he has wanted since the start of spring has been to sleep without thinking about anything.

 

Zayn left early the next morning before Harry woke up. He hardly slept well, coming in and out of sleep in fits; he had grown accustomed to the exhaustion, though. He plugged his phone in when he got home and, after making a cup of coffee, he heard his phone beeping with updates after it restarted. There was a stream of missed messages, mostly from Harry - _where are you?, hellloooooooooo, zayn? -_ a couple of E-mails, notifications on Instagram…at the top, though, were two messages from Louis: _hey_ and then _shit i suck at this fuck listen. Let’s talk. okay? please?_ Zayn blew over the top of his coffee and stared at the lock screen until it went dark again. He pressed the home button and looked at it, doing that over and over again, until his coffee was cool enough to drink. After he finished the mug of coffee, he put it beside his untouched phone on the nightstand and took a shower.

He stood directly underneath the showerhead and let the water run from the crown of his head down his nape and back. He pushed his hair back and forth, watching the water change from dripping down the left side of his face to the right side. Breathing in the steam was nice and it was calming standing there, the sound of the shower drowning everything out. He closed his eyes and thought about Louis and…hugging him. He felt Louis’s arms tighten around him like he was there and kept that feeling of closeness for a long time while the water gradually became cooler and cooler. He walked back to his room after drying off, still working at his hair with a towel, and texted Louis back.

_Yeah._

Zayn thought he wasn’t much better at it, either.

_like, tomorrow? after prayer?_

He wanted to write “like usual,” but he didn’t know how far he should push. Zayn set his phone back down and threw his towel into the bathroom on top of the bath mat.

 

 

Louis sat on the couch. He lay on the couch. He stood by the couch. He walked into the kitchen and stood in the middle, not sure why he had walked into the kitchen. He sat back down on the couch. His phone was on the coffee table and he periodically checked the clock on it, watching minutes tick by after noon and waiting to hear Zayn knock on his door.

 _Like normal,_ Louis thought, sighing every time the thought came up. _This is not normal._ He spent all of the day before and the rest of the morning cleaning his apartment - he actually vacuumed with an awful, little vacuum he borrowed from his neighbor. The dishes were washed, there were staple foods in the fridge and pantry, and everything was put away.

Louis walked into the kitchen again and turned on the stove for the kettle. Summer was in full swing, but Louis refused to ice tea; he would just let it sit, after steeping, and wait for it to be cool enough to drink. It was more about the ritual anyway.

There was a knock at the door. Louis took a deep breath in and waited, somewhere between hoping it wasn’t real and paralyzed by it actually being real. There was a second, more insistent knock and Louis went to open the door. Zayn looked up at him standing in the doorway - gripping the door - and smiled. It was habitual but honest - Zayn felt relief and excitement that just seeing him could be this simple. Louis felt comfortable, his edge worn down. Zayn had a single plastic bag, stuffed with different brightly-colored packages. The kettle screamed from the kitchen.

“Shit…come in -“ Louis moved back as Zayn walked in and felt a little self-conscious inviting him in. “Obviously…” he added quietly, huffing out a single, weightless laugh.

Louis took the kettle off of the stove and poured water over tea bags in two mugs. Another habit - Louis wondered if he should’ve asked first. Zayn was sitting sprawled out on the couch, his back slid halfway down. He had on jean shorts, trainers, and a boxy, oversized t-shirt.

“It’s hot today.” Zayn said.

Louis stood between the kitchen and the living room holding the mugs and looked at Zayn. He was breathing out of his mouth slowly and had closed his eyes momentarily - perfectly relaxed. When he opened his eyes he looked at Louis and smiled quizzically.

“Are you just going to stand there? Oh -“ Zayn sat up, “You didn’t have to make me one…”

He grabbed the bottle of coffee he had bought at the bodega out of the bag and sat it on the coffee table.

“Too hot to wait on your tea.”

“Right.”

Louis put one of the mugs down on the kitchen island behind him in a robotic way, as if Zayn were using some controller on him. Louis was dazed; he didn’t know what to say or how to respond to Zayn’s cool exterior. Was he really that unfazed? Zayn wasn’t, though, of course. He knew just as little as Louis did and was too afraid to move from the couch. Louis sat on the floor across from him, setting his mug off to the side to cool. He ran his hands over his thighs, wiping off nothing.

“Okay.” Louis looked intently at the edge of the coffee table. “So. Like…what the fuck?”

Zayn laughed. Louis felt a flush and shook his head, as if that could shake it off.

“No, I mean what the fuck? What the fuck did I do? What the fuck did…we do?”

He was looking at Zayn like he was interrogating him and like he was about to start pleading. Zayn was taken aback by his candidness and just stared at him. Louis stood.

“I feel really angry about it, I think. But I don’t like being mad at you and, like, I don’t even know why I’m mad and that makes me mad, but -“ Louis breathed out hard and took a deep breath in, “That makes me really fucking sad, you know? What am I supposed to do? What was I supposed to do?”

Louis looked exhausted. Zayn stood, standing across the coffee table from him, and pushed his hair out of his face.

“Are you even sure, like, this is what you want?”

He didn’t look at Louis. Louis held his breath, not even realizing that he had stopped breathing. What was he saying?

“Like -“ Zayn looked anywhere except at Louis, “Sometimes I’m not sure if this is right? And…do you? What does all that mean?” He looked at Louis, “What are you saying?”

Louis stared at him, holding back disbelief.

“Not that we should fucking break up.” He finally said, quietly.

Zayn had just left. Louis didn’t know if he should call or why Zayn hadn’t called him back when he did. They felt suspended, but neither of them knew if they were suspended together. Louis knew, though, if he couldn’t stop thinking about Zayn then he wasn't breaking up with him. He hoped Zayn felt the same.

Zayn rolled his eyes, “Lou…”

“What are _you_ saying?”

“Nothing, Lou!”

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t _ever_ say anything!”

Zayn looked wounded and Louis’s gaze had turned from cautious to piercing. Zayn went to the bathroom, looking for space away from Louis. He leaned his head against the closed door and tried to pace his breathing. Louis muttered _fuck_ under his breath and drank his tea, now too cold and too bitter. He threw the bag away in the trash, but distractedly clung to the mug instead of tossing the tea in the sink. Zayn walked back into the living room and saw Louis in the kitchen.

“Louis.”

“I’m sorry.” He said immediately.

Zayn was surprised, but shook his head. That wasn’t what they were there for; that was small compared to the entirety of their relationship.

“I’m sorry…” He repeated.

“Do you remember,” Zayn spoke more loudly, “last year when you asked me if you can make a home out of somebody?”

Louis’s ears burned so hot they must have flared up pink instantly. Of course he remembered. Louis spent every moment away from Zayn wondering if he could, if Zayn could be his home. If he was wrecking everything. Some days he felt like he was tearing out the storm gutters, other days leaving the food to rot in the fridge, and sometimes, rarely, like he finally fixed a cupboard’s hinge. He couldn’t stop thinking about trying so hard to take care of Zayn and ruining every bit of it.

“I don’t think I’m a good home.” Zayn bit his lip. He spoke more quietly, “I don’t think I can take care of you.”

Louis’s apartment was silent. A door slammed down the hallway and the sound of footsteps passed by the door to his apartment.

“I don’t want you to be a house.”

It sounded stupid, calling Zayn a house, after all that quietness and strain had filled the apartment. The metaphor was there, though, and Louis pressed on.

“I fucking suck at housekeeping.”

Zayn walked into the kitchen.

“You can’t wreck me, Lou.”

It looked like Louis broke under some invisible weight he had been carrying. He softened. Zayn closed the distance between them and caught Louis’s hand on his chest like he was trying to push him back, but he didn’t put any effort in it and his arm folded in between them. Louis twisted his mouth up and kept his eyes open like if he just fought it, if he just willed it not to happen, he wouldn’t cry. Maybe he could turn it all back.

“I’m _really_ good at that.”

Zayn had pulled Louis into a tight hug and Louis spoke into Zayn’s chest. He could feel Zayn’s heart tapping out a fast rhythm against his ribs. Zayn sighed.

“There’s…nothing for you to tear down.”

Louis pushed away and shook his head, taking a sharp inhale in through his nose.

“Stop saying that.”

“No, I…”

Zayn took a step back to look at Louis. He was caught in between determination and distress, looking like a weary legionnaire who hadn’t been home in years.

“I - _we_ aren’t things you and me need to work on, right?”

They were quiet for a moment. Louis was still clinging onto that mug, practically white-knuckled around it. He loosened his grip and stopped himself short of shaking out his hand. He drank the cold tea without thinking about it and frowned a little at the taste - so awfully bitter…why hadn’t he thrown it out? Why was he keeping it? He turned around to the sink and dumped it out, placing the mug down quietly in the basin. Zayn exhaled loudly. He scratched his neck and then crossed his arms.

“I saw Harry. And, uh, he said…” He looked at the door frame, thinking of exactly what Harry had said. “Something like, ‘You have to trust yourself first.’ And that we’re enough for each other.”

Louis was still facing the sink, but he turned his head to face Zayn.

“Now you’re taking advice from a hippie?”

Zayn forced down a smile. “He didn’t make me drink any tea or light any incense, so…”

“…So, we need to trust each other?”

Zayn didn’t answer right away. “I think…it’s more, like, we need to believe in each other. More. Like…” Zayn looked up at the ceiling, “Like, we need to believe that we’re gonna be there for each other. Like that we’re not gonna just let ourselves fall apart -“

Zayn didn’t say it, but Louis filled it in in his head: _like this._

“Can I have a hug?” Louis asked quietly, speaking into the sink.

Zayn crossed the kitchen automatically, not even having to consider the question. Louis turned in his embrace, flattening his shoulders against Zayn’s and tucking into him. Louis let himself shut his eyes and he gave in to being comforted by Zayn. He felt cut off from everything wrapped up in Zayn, like they were alone in a cave by the ocean with the water roaring just outside and drowning out everything else.

“Babe…I can’t stay tonight. Promised my mom I’d help her out with something.”

Louis pushed back from Zayn and scrubbed his face with his hand. He felt tired.

“Yeah, okay.” Louis nodded.

“Uhm, can I see you next week?” Zayn scrunched his eyebrows together like he was asking a difficult question. “Like usual?”

Louis let out a strained laugh, “Of course. Yes.” He sniffled. “Fucking better.”

Zayn pushed back his hair and then pulled it over with his fingers, aimlessly fixing it.

“You know, my mom misses you coming over. I started running out of excuses…” He smiled sheepishly.

Louis laughed loudly. “Good! Trisha always liked me better, anyway. What kind of son are you, keeping us apart?”

 

 

Zayn pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head and knocked loudly on Louis’s door. He had two bags from the bodega in one hand and he irritatedly kept pushing back a stray hair behind his ear. Louis pulled open the door, wiping at his eyes.

“Are you - were you crying?”

“Oh, fuck off!” Louis grabbed the bags from Zayn. “I got smoke in my eye…”

“It’s fine if you were, I just wish we could talk - “

“Don’t fucking start, _Malik,_ it’s been a week. One week!”

“Missed you, babe.”

Zayn kissed Louis on his temple, both patronizing and endearing. Louis accepted it. Zayn used the bathroom and then stood in front of the mirror adjusting his hair. It was…annoying - he couldn’t find a way to adjust it without it bothering him in some way. It would stick to his face in weird ways with the heat and humidity outside and the sweat ruined any style he worked it into that morning. He was ready for something new. Or, in a way, some kind of fresh start. He wanted to start over.

“Lou!”

“What!” Louis called back.

Zayn leaned on the wall of the entryway into the kitchen.

“Do you still have your mom’s clippers?”

Louis stopped unpacking the bags. “Are you serious?”

Zayn shrugged and messed up his hair with his hand. “I need a haircut.”

 

“You know that song ‘Samson’?”

Zayn was sitting shirtless on one of Louis’s mismatched dining room chairs in the bathroom. Louis was shoving stuff around underneath his sink, looking for the bag that had the clippers in it.

“What?” Louis had to speak more loudly over the noise he made knocking things around.

“You know, Regina Spektor?”

“Mmm, I don't know…”

Louis stood up triumphantly, holding a zipper case covered in dust. He dumped the contents into the sink and then followed the cord of the clippers to the plug, sticking it into the wall. The sink was a mess of guards, a brush; dust was floating in the air.

“You are my sweetest,” Zayn was singing softly, “downfall, I loved you first…”

Louis guffawed, “That's a damn lie.”

He was fishing for the one guard and glanced back at Zayn, seeing if he caught what he said. He was facing forward and still singing, but even more quietly. His head was tilted down and his shoulders were hunched forward like he was a robot switched off for maintenance. He didn’t show any sign that he heard Louis's admission. Louis hoped he hadn’t.

 _He probably already knew,_ Louis thought.

Zayn finally felt relaxed after how long last week - after the last few months, actually - felt and just being around Louis again was nice. It was normal; it felt like the routine was coming back. Louis took another second and traced the line of his shoulders with his eyes, taking in their sturdiness. He was absorbed by how right Zayn looked around his things. Around him.

He snapped the guard onto the clippers and flicked it on, testing that it worked. The clippers buzzed to life, easily outdoing Zayn in volume; the hum filled the small bathroom. He turned them off and stood behind Zayn, touching his hair, feeling it and moving his hand through it. The sides had grown out a little - they would need to be shaved, too. Louis turned the clippers back on and Zayn projected his voice a little more, a little louder than the buzz.

“I cut his hair myself one night, told me that I'd done alright -”

Zayn stopped singing when Louis pressed the clippers to his head and the first bit of hair fell off. The buzzing clippers sat at the crown of his head, the clump of hair sitting on Zayn’s knee. He brushed it off and looked at the linoleum peeling up at the doorframe.

“No going back.” Louis’s voice sounded a little mischievous.

Zayn took a deep breath in and then continued singing. Louis pulled back with the clippers and shaved a long stripe in the center of his head. He shook them off at Zayn’s back and then put the clippers back on his head, drawing them back again. Shaving his head hardly took any time at all, but Zayn kept them there longer to run over his head again and again to make sure it was all even.

 

The sun had finally set - since they were in the full swing of summer the days stretched on - and Louis and Zayn were in the living room underneath the slowly spinning fan watching a movie. Louis was on the couch with Zayn sitting on the floor in front of him. It was a little too hot and a little too sticky to be curled up together on the couch, but Louis kept running his hand over Zayn’s newly-shaven head and that was easier with Zayn below him anyway. He loved the feel of his short hair underneath his hand and the sound it made when he would slide his hand across his head. Zayn found it comforting and relaxing, nearly falling asleep underneath it.

They were watching _Invasion of the Body Snatchers,_ but aside from their occasional snorts of laughter, they were silent. They didn’t make it through to the end of the film, though; Zayn felt Louis’s hand go slack on his head and slip off of the side. Louis had fallen asleep on the arm of the couch, slumped uncomfortably. Zayn paused the movie and stood, taking a second to stretch and think of the best way to wake up Louis to take him to bed. He poked his arm and didn’t get a response; he shook his shoulder, poked his head - Louis wasn’t stirring. He bent down, able to hear Louis’s small breaths, and kissed Louis’s forehead. Zayn leaned in further and softly touched his lips with his own. He pulled away and saw a very small smile spread across Louis’s face. Zayn rolled his eyes, smiling himself.

“Time for bed.”

“Lead the way.” Louis raised his arms and kept his eyes closed, making him look like a kind of sleepy zombie.

Zayn pulled him up and led him to the bedroom. They both undressed and climbed into bed, curling together for the time being - they wouldn’t be able to sleep with their body heat and the summer, but they started that way, cuddled together. Louis fell back asleep almost immediately, his breath getting heavier after a minute in bed. Zayn was started to slip into sleep, too, when Louis shifted a little behind him.

“Thank you…” Louis mumbled into the pillow.

Zayn waited a moment, not sure if he actually heard him talk.

“For what?” He asked quietly.

He wasn’t sure Louis could have even heard him, but Louis didn’t answer anyway.


End file.
